


Rock of Ages

by twistedchick



Series: Upon This Rock [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Adventure, Burglary, Helicopter, Immortals, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:23:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie warns Amanda of Duncan's Dark quickening, and becomes involved in her own plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock of Ages

**Author's Note:**

> >   
> Rock of ages, cleft for me  
> Let me hide myself in thee....  
> \-- Gospel song  
> 

He had to get out of Seacouver. Now -- before Mac recovered enough to come after him and finish the fight Joe Dawson had interrupted with four shots from a 9mm pistol.

It took almost no time to pack. He threw a few t-shirts into a pack, followed by a couple of pairs of jeans, some socks and underwear. The good clothes stayed behind; if he were lucky, he could come back some day and have something to wear.

As he cranked up the bike on the road out of town the nagging thought that had worried at the back of his mind finally registered.

Did Amanda know that Mac had gone insane?

He pulled the bike over to the side of the road in a skid of gravel. Damn. He could just see it. Amanda would waltz up to Duncan MacLeod in that teasing way of hers, and he would smile sweetly at her and take her head. She was no match for him with a sword; she'd sometimes asked him for help when faced with combatants more powerful than she was. Amanda's skills lay in other areas, and while they were finely honed they would be little help against Mac's cold Japanese steel.

A couple of miles down the road he found a pay phone by a garage. It took three tries before the coin he tried to put into the pay phone dropped into the slot. He made a fist around the receiver to stop his hand from shaking, but it didn't work.

"Joe?"

"Richie? Thank God. Where are you?"

"That doesn't matter. Where's Mac?"

He heard a sigh. "He left. One of our guys saw him pull out in the T-bird, about an hour ago. He was heading west, last we knew."

West. Good. Richie was headed east. His shoulders released a little tension, just enough to make it easier to breathe. "Joe, where's Amanda? Has anyone contacted her?"

The dead silence at the other end of the line told him all he needed to know.

"Where is she, Joe? I can't let her just be killed." He could see her smiling, and his insane former best friend smiling back and swinging that sword...

Another sigh. "You're right. You can warn her, and I can't. Here's her contact number, and her address. She doesn't have a phone right now; she's staying at one of the few places that doesn't have one." "What, no room service? You sure this is Amanda we're talking about?"

It was the first time he'd even felt like cracking a joke since Mac walked into the dojo.

"She's training someone, and she wanted some privacy. It was Mac's idea -- the training, that is. I don't think he knows her whereabouts. Last he knew, she was living in an abandoned monastery." Joe harrumphed and lowered his voice; from the background noises it sounded as if the early evening crowd had just walked in. "Call the contact number when you get to the first pay phone after you go through Wolf Creek. She has a beeper; she'll call you back. It should take you a little more than half a day to get there. Where are you staying tonight?"

"On the road, Joe. He can't catch me on this bike, at least not if he's headed in the wrong direction. I should be there by morning."

"Good. Give Amanda my regards. And take care of your neck, my friend. I can't afford to lose too many of you at once; it looks bad on my record." They both knew Joe's record with the Watchers was the least of his concerns.

Richie's bike roared through the quiet of the Cascades like a 747 taking off. He cranked it down to quiet it a little as he swept through villages and small towns, but pushed as hard as he could. The last thing he wanted was some officious cop pulling him over on a noise ordinance when he needed to make the best time possible. Luckily, there were no cops around. He stopped twice to eat and to give himself a brief rest -- God, he felt tired. Was it still the same day? Would all of immortality feel this long, this drawn-out, as if night would never end? When the sun rose over the mountains he pulled up beside a pay phone five miles east of Wolf Creek, in the middle of nowhere, dialed the contact number, and breathed a prayer.

"This is the message service for Agent 99. Please state your business and leave a phone number where you can be reached."

Agent 99? Since when did Amanda watch old TV shows?

"Amanda, this is Richie. I need to talk to you pronto. It's an emergency. Don't call anyone else, and don't delay or it's both of our heads. I'm at this number." He read off the number, hung up the receiver, and waited.

About 20 minutes later he heard a muffled sound overhead. An old Blackhawk helicopter glided in on rotors switched to silent operation, and landed in the middle of the road. The buzz hit him as the pilot swung out, ducked under the rotors, and ran to meet him, pulling off a tight cap. It was Amanda, in black Kevlar combat gear.

"Richard? Are you all right?" She rushed up to him, hugged him and put him at arms length to look him over. "What's wrong?"

"Hey, Amanda, good to see you." His knees sagged with relief at seeing her. "It's a long story. Can we get to some place else before I start it? I'm kind of beat."

"You look it." She nodded. "Bring your bike over and we'll put it in the back of the chopper. I made sure to leave room for it."

"Since when do you fly a helicopter? I knew you flew a plane from Germany to England once, but that was fifty years ago." They hoisted the motorbike into the helicopter and swung in themselves, Amanda in the pilot's seat and Richie in the copilot's seat.

"Oh, a woman has to keep up with the times. I know how to do lots of things MacLeod has no idea about. Don't worry, I won't ask you to fly this crate," she said in answer to his raised eyebrow. "I just want you to have a good view."

"Fine by me." The chopper lifted off, swooped up over the mountains and flew in an odd zigzag pattern for about half an hour. Richie lost count of how many times the course changed, from north to northeast to south and back to northeast again. "You want to tell me why we're playing hopscotch?"

Amanda threw him a grin. "For one thing, we're not supposed to be here. For another, private citizens don't usually own Blackhawk gunships, even old ones. And for a third, we're following the same flight pattern as the local security helicopters from the military bases, just in case anyone's looking. Protective coloration, you might say."

"Where are we going?" He was totally lost, looking down at miles of green wooded hills and small lakes, without a shred of civilization in sight. There wasn't even one place to get a hamburger.

"We're here." The chopper flew toward a rocky ridge that jutted out over a valley filled with pine trees, ducked in under the ridge and set down neatly on a sheltered pad. Amanda shut off the motor. "Watch that first step or two, until you're used to this place. Maybe you'd better get out on my side."

Richie gulped. He could have taken that first step, onto rock, without a problem, but the second step would have been a thousand feet lower. "Thanks. I think I will."

He stood in the middle of a cave that opened onto one of the most beautiful scenic vistas he'd encountered, and all he really wanted was a scalding cup of coffee, a bath, food, and a good long talk with Amanda. Nothing but the talk looked likely, from what he saw. Amanda handed him the backpack and luggage he'd carried on the bike, but left the bike in the back of the chopper for the moment. She jumped down, closed the door, and walked toward the darkness in the back of the cave. "Come on, Richie, it's safe. Nothing's going to hurt you here."

"You sure about that? There could be bears in here, or snakes."

"Bears don't fly." Her voice sounded amused. "Come over here toward the sound of my voice. That's right. It's level, you won't fall." She raised her voice slightly. "I'm back, turn on the lights."

Suddenly the back third of the cave was lit, and the light was coming through a gap in a heavy curtain Amanda held open for him. "Blackout drapes," she said. "Don't want to advertise that we're here. It's all right now, during the day, but don't ever open these at night unless the lights are off; this cave is visible for a hundred miles after dark."

"Really? Why'd you pick this place to live, instead of going back to Paris where everything is public?" He was starting to feel flaky from hunger.

"Oh, it has its compensations."

Amanda led Richie through a door in the back of the cave, up a short flight of stairs carved out of the rock, and through a heavy door. When she opened the door he knew he must be dreaming, or else his nose was hallucinating. Fresh hot pizza, in the middle of nowhere? There was no mistaking that aroma, or the coffee that came with it.

"Civilization does exist away from the city, Richie; it just takes a little more planning. Have some coffee, you look like you need it."

It was no dream. He stood in a narrow hall that opened into a kitchen with more gadgets on racks hung from the walls and ceiling than he'd ever seen. On the counter sat a giant pizza, complete with all the toppings he'd ever want; it had just emerged from a hearth oven in the opposite wall. A girl with dark curly hair leaned a long-handled wooden paddle against the wall and handed him a mug of coffee, fixed the way he liked it, sugar and a little cream.

He took a gulp of coffee -- man, that was excellent! -- and looked further. Beyond the kitchen area was a dining area, and beyond that it looked like the cave broke off into more rooms, some large and some smaller.

"Would you like something to eat?" the girl asked him, a little shyly. Her blue eyes glowed. Richie noticed she wore black quasi- military clothing that fit well but left her room to move.

"Richard, this is Michelle. Michelle, this is Richie Ryan, an old friend of mine and MacLeod's. Richie, why don't you pull up a barstool, make yourself comfortable and have some pizza while I change, and then we can talk." Amanda smiled at him and went off into one of the smaller rooms.

"So you're Richie Ryan," Michelle said. She cut the pizza, brought plates and napkins out from a cupboard he hadn't noticed, and they started eating. Neither of them spoke until they'd gone through about half of the pizza together. "I've heard a lot about you from Amanda."

"I hope it's good. Is there more coffee?" He felt as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.

Michelle moved a coffeepot within his reach. "She was right about one thing, so far. Are you always this hungry?"

He shook his head. "Well, not always. I've been too busy to eat for a day or so."

"Doing what? Or maybe I shouldn't ask."

The tiredness was wearing off a little; he noticed that her eyes were a clear sapphire.

"I think I'd better wait until Amanda is back." He smiled, to show he didn't mean it as a putdown. "How long have you known Amanda?"

"About a year or so. She's teaching me a lot of useful things."

"If one of them is making pizza, she's doing a great job."

"Thank you," Amanda purred. She had changed from the combat suit into old jeans and an equally worn red sweater. "Do you think you're recovered enough to tell me what's going on? Or should I call Duncan for details?"

"Oh, God, don't do that." Richie's voice dropped. He put the mug down, reached over and took Amanda's hand. "Please, whatever you do, don't contact Mac. He's taken a Dark Quickening, and he'll kill you."

Amanda drew back from the counter, alarmed. "Are you crazy? Duncan would never hurt me."

"No? He tried to kill me yesterday, right there in the dojo. He had me down on the floor with his katana at my neck. See?" He pulled down the collar of his shirt to show her a thin white line along the base of his neck, the only place an Immortal could scar. "That's from Mac's sword. I'd be dead right now if Dawson hadn't come in and shot him. It took four shots to put him down, and I don't know how Dawson managed to escape when Mac came to." He was shaking, the memories were so intense. He gripped the counter to keep from falling off the barstool; Amanda caught his arm with one strong hand.

"There must be some mistake," she said. "A Dark Quickening? Duncan? He's the kindest man I know."

"No mistake." Richie wavered. "Trust me, he's not himself any more. The Duncan MacLeod we know is not running that body right now, and you really don't want to meet the guy who is." He was starting to feel dizzy. Why did explanations have to be so hard to do?

"Get him a brandy -- you know the one," she said over her shoulder to Michelle. Michelle reached under the counter and brought out a clouded bottle. She poured a little into a glass and handed it to Richie.

"What is it?"

"Brandy, and a few useful herbs. It's safe, I drink it all the time."

"Great, something that won't kill you." He downed the glass in a gulp. It took a moment, but his vision began to clear and he actually felt a little stronger.

"How did this happen?" Amanda asked him.

"Did you ever hear of an Immortal named Coltec, a heyoka?" She shook her head, her eyes intent on his face. "Someone who absorbs evil and overcomes it? Coltec went bad, and then when Mac fought him -- and won -- the evil overcame him too. He isn't Duncan MacLeod any more, he's all those old evil personalities inside that either of them fought over the years. He's vicious."

If it could be possible for Amanda to grow more pale, she did so. "Oh, God. I've met some of those people. Does he know where you were going?"

Richie shook his head. "I called Dawson from out of town. Last seen, Mac was heading west."

"Not good enough. Do you want to call him again tonight and make sure? I can arrange it."

"I thought you didn't have a phone."

"I don't, but I can get to one easily enough." She picked up something from a bookcase. He'd ignored it until now because he was so hungry, and when he first noticed it from the corner of his eye he'd assumed it was an odd barbell. Not so -- it was a lineman's jack.

"Nice. You have your own telephone company, I see."

"Sort of. I try not to use the same pole too often; people might notice."

Michelle's eyes sparkled. "Do you want me to drive the truck this time?"

"Sure, just stay within the speed limit. Utilities vehicles aren't built for racing." Amanda looked stern. Richie was amused; he hadn't expected to see this side of her.

Richie slept the rest of the day; Amanda woke him just at sunset. "Here, put this on," she said, handing him a coverall with the local phone company's logo on it. "It should fit. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry." Surprisingly enough, considering the muscle he'd put on in the past couple of years, the coverall fit perfectly. What else did Amanda have in her closets? "You must be feeling better. We'll eat afterward," Amanda promised. Her coverall fit well but without the skin-tight closeness of her usual clothing. She pulled a bag of trail mix out of a pocket and handed it to him. "This should keep you going for now."

Half an hour later Richie and Amanda were perched at the top of a telephone pole somewhere in the mountains; Michelle kept watch in the truck at the base of the pole. Amanda fiddled with the connection until it was perfect, dialed the number and handed the jack to Richie. He leaned toward her so they could both listen in on the line and speak into the mouthpiece.

"Joe's Bar."

"Joe, this is Richie. Where's Mac?"

"He got on a tramp steamer headed for Europe the long way. I don't think it'll keep him out of trouble, but he won't be anywhere we don't know about for the next couple of weeks. How's Amanda?"

She leaned in. "I'm fine, Joe. I'm just having some trouble understanding what's going on with Duncan. Can you tell me more? Is it safe at the moment?"

"Jesus, Amanda, it's good to hear your voice. I was worried. I assume Richie has told you what he knows." She made an incoherent noise of agreement. "Here's something he doesn't know: MacLeod came into my bar before he went to the dojo. He treated one of the girls here pretty badly, in fact, he got so rough that we had to throw him out on his ass, and that's not an easy job. I'm still cleaning up the mess. He's gonna get billed for broken tables and chairs, though I don't know when I'll ever get paid for it."

Richie spoke up. "We'll take care of that, Joe. Don't worry. He's our problem too." He hated the way Joe's voice sounded, so disappointed and hurt. If paying the bill would help, he'd do it even if he had to steal the money.

"Thanks, but no. Call it the cost of doing business with Immortals." Joe's voice sounded grim. "Believe it or not, the Watchers have insurance; I just don't want to call this little problem in to them."

"And after that he went over to the dojo?" Amanda's face was stony. She swallowed hard.

"Yes. I don't know if he went over looking for a fight, but I wouldn't be surprised. This isn't the MacLeod we know and love, Amanda. Right now he's everyone's problem." She started to say something, but even Richie couldn't make out the words. Joe stopped her. "Amanda, please don't go near him until I know more about what's happening. He'll take your head and smile, and never even realize what he's done." Joe's voice deepened. "Damnit, I don't want to lose you two, either of you."

Amanda blinked away the tears in her eyes. "All right, Joe, you just keep an eye on Duncan, and we'll stay out of his way for now. I can't believe he'd ever hurt a woman, but if you say he did I'll have to believe you." She gulped. "I have a project of my own going on that should keep me busy for a while. Would you call me at the beeper number when you know what's going on? I'd really appreciate it."

"I will. Watch your backs, both of you. Take care of each other. With something like this going on, there's no telling what might happen." He hung up.

The tears rolled down Amanda's cheeks and she dashed them away impatiently with the back of her hand. "He must really be gone over to the darkness. Oh, Richie, how could he do this?"

Richie patted her shoulder. "I don't know, Amanda, but I think if you want to cry on my shoulder we ought to get our feet on the ground first."

She smiled in spite of the tears. "Have you always been so practical?"

"I've been taking lessons." They descended the pole, climbed into the truck and headed back to what Richie thought of as the cave. As Michelle parked the truck, he said, "Amanda, how did you ever find this place in the middle of nowhere?"

"I'm just borrowing it from an old friend for a while. He lets me stay here sometimes if I'll do him some favors."

"Anyone I know?"

She considered a moment. "I don't think so. He's a very old friend, and we owe each other a few favors. But he's very reclusive; I don't think you'd meet him."

"Oh. What kind of favors, or should I ask?" A thought crossed Richie's mind and he blenched. "This isn't a setup for a bank heist or something, is it?"

Amanda shot him a look of disgust. She stalked into the hall, stripped off her gloves and threw them at a closet. "Bank heist! You should know me better than that. I only take things that I won't get into trouble for. I haven't dealt with stolen money in centuries. Well, decades. Not lately."

"What about those bank plates that got you and Mac shot?"

"That wasn't money, that was insurance. Take off the overalls; I need to keep them clean for next time."

The three of them changed into casual clothes and converged upon the kitchen. Richie could hear his stomach rumbling. He started the coffeepot while Michelle began to chop salad greens. Amanda put on a pot of spaghetti sauce and a pot of pasta, and brought a good bottle of red wine from under the counter.

He cracked a grin at Amanda to see if she was still annoyed with him; it took a moment, but she smiled back. "So, what's the job? I'm not doing anything right now; could you use a spare pair of hands?"

"The job? Hmm. What kind of experience have you had?"

"What, you want my rap sheet for a resume?"

"Don't be silly. Have you done much with disarming automated alarm systems? Can you do second-story work? Are you afraid of heights? What skills can you throw into the pot and what will I have to teach you?" She bruised fresh oregano and basil between her fingers and dropped the herbs into the sauce.

He counted on his fingers. "Let's see. The only time I was caught in the last five years was by a certain Duncan MacLeod, but you know that. I can drive anything that has wheels. I'm not afraid of heights, I have a pretty good sense of balance. I can pick locks and cut glass soundlessly, and I can find a fence in any town. It's this boyish charm." He grinned at Michelle, whose eyes twinkled back at him from a solemn face. "I'm fast, I'm light-fingered, I can take care of myself and I learn very quickly."

"You're hired." Amanda passed him a plate of spaghetti and a bowl of grated Parmesan cheese. Glasses of wine were already set out on the table in the next room; evidently, dinner was a bit more formal than lunch.

"And the job?"

"Let's just say it has something to do with intelligence."

"Government work? That doesn't sound like you."

"No, the other meaning of intelligence -- knowledge. In this case, knowledge of the future."

"You are kidding, aren't you?"

Amanda and Michelle shook their heads in unison. "It's not a joke," Amanda said. "There's a device that allows someone who is trained to use it to look into the future. It's in a very secure place, which is why we've been hired to deal with it."

"To steal it? Are you sure you want whoever hired you to have control over the future?" Richie could feel his hair standing on end at the thought.

"It's not like that, Richie." She reached for the salad tongs. "It's more important to get the thing away from the people who have it now. I don't think my old friend who owns this place is quite as honorable as Darius -- but he's a whole lot more reliable than the mortals who have it now."

"And they are?" He had a funny feeling in his throat.

"Watchers, we think."

The funny feeling escalated into butterflies and migrated to his stomach. He set his fork down.

"We're going to steal a time machine from the Watchers? Are you crazy? They'll never stand for this. It could be Hunters instead of Watchers; it could be a set-up with a guillotine at the end. This is nuts."

"I wish it was just that simple," Amanda said. Her eyes held a thousand years of pain. "My friend found out that they want to use it to determine who will be alive at the end of the Gathering." She shook her head again, more slowly and a bit sadly. " We're not hired to steal it, Richie. We're hired to destroy it."

The look on her face kept him from asking any more questions, though they burned in his throat. They finished dinner in silence and washed the dishes. Afterward, Amanda went off to her room and closed the door. Richie watched her go, and thought she looked sad and defeated, so unlike the cheery Amanda he had seen with Duncan. He shied away from the thought of Duncan as if he'd just seen a rattlesnake, too dangerous to get close to.

Maybe he could find out more from Michelle. God knew, he'd seen enough of Hunters to last the rest of his life, even if it ended tomorrow.

Michelle tapped him on the arm. "Would you like to see the rest of the place? I can give you the short tour."

"There's more? Sure, lead on." How big was this cave? He'd already seen a heliport, a garage, a restaurant-sized kitchen, a dining room, several bedrooms and bathrooms. What else could there be?

Michelle's body in her sleek knit jumpsuit made Richie's eyes bug out just a little. She grinned at his expression and pushed a button on the wall that looked like just another piece of rock. Something clicked and a door swung open onto a long hallway with many doors. All the questions he had about the job flew out of his head.

"What is this place? I've never seen anything like it."

"I'm not really sure. Amanda said it was built by a very wealthy man as a hideaway, but it looks more like a military outpost to me. My stepfather used to work for the military, and I saw a lot of them when we traveled."

"Is he dead? I'm sorry."

"No, he thinks I'm dead. It's a long story." She sighed. "The first room on the right is the game room, the second is the strategy room and the third is the library. The doors on the left all lead into the gym. Oh, and the last one goes to the pool as well."

"You've got a pool in here? How do you heat it? Or is Amanda getting big on cold showers or something?"

"You'll see." Michelle giggled. "Which do you want to visit first?"

The game room held amusements of every type imaginable. A pool table and an air-hockey table took up much of the floor, along with a couple of pinball machines in the corners. There was also a large rubber mat on one section of the floor -- Richie raised an eyebrow and Michelle replied, "Wrestling is a game, isn't it?"

The strategy room looked like the war room from every military movie Richie had ever seen. Huge files of maps, scale drawings of buildings, and even three-dimensional reconstructions of rooms were there, with little arrows marked on them to show where people would move and why. He didn't see anything that looked recent, though, or related to the job Amanda had mentioned, and Michelle didn't point out anything in particular.

The library reminded him of one of the historical libraries he'd seen in Paris when Tessa took him around as a tourist. Books filled shelves from floor to ceiling all the way around a room the size of a small concert hall, with ladders reaching to a walkway halfway up so that one could reach the upper levels of the stacks. Whoever compiled this library was thorough. He whistled quietly as he noticed the range of books: history, science and invention, classical literature, theories of war, natural history, science fiction and fantasy, poetry, art, music. There was even a complete set of first-editions of Edgar Rice Burroughs; maybe he could catch up on the adventures of John Carter if Amanda gave him time. He hadn't even seen them since someone gave him a copy of one when he was in Juvenile Hall; someone else had stolen it the next day. He remembered really liking the story, even if it seemed outlandish then to think of modern people fighting with big swords.

Michelle opened a vault and showed him a stockpile of metal cans.

"Movies. Almost all of them, I think. Amanda's friend belongs to a subscription service that sends him copies of everything that's filmed that he might like, including some that are never released publicly." She shrugged at his raised eyebrow. "Well, Amanda has never told me his name, and I have to call him something."

"He must have a lot of pull." He looked at the labels. _Intolerance. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Satyricon. A Night at the Opera. Rocky Horror Picture Show. Gone with the Wind. Saturday Night Fever. Raging Bull. Funny Girl._ "Is there anything he -- or is it she? -- doesn't like?"

"Boredom." Michelle pointed to a door on another side of the library. "There's a screening room there; we watch movies about twice a week. You can pick the next ones. Do you want to see the gym or the pool next?"

"The gym -- I'm not ready to freeze my ass off."

The gym was bigger than all of DeSalvo's dojo, and held things he'd never expected. Of course, there was an area for fencing, with a rack of swords from a thousand years of history decorating the wall. Richie assumed they belonged to Amanda's unnamed friend; the only sword he'd ever seen Amanda use wasn't on the rack. All of them were high-quality blades, the equal to anything he'd seen in Duncan's and Tessa's antique shop, but none had that special sense of belonging to anyone in particular. Next to that, though, was a contraption with stair steps built into it at odd angles and distances. He touched a button and it moved. "Climbing machine. We can approximate any size of stairs, any angle. It comes in handy." Michelle handed him a blindfold. "Try walking up and down once without seeing it."

He handed it back. "No way. You do it."

"All right. You fasten the blindfold." She positioned herself at the bottom of the rickety-looking stairs, and he tied the cloth around her head so that he was sure she couldn't see. She took the first step slowly, then speeded up. Soon she was almost dancing up and down the staircase. She reached the bottom and pulled off the blindfold.

"How did you do that?" Richie demanded. "It was like something from a Fred Astaire movie."

"You're almost right. Amanda borrowed the step from an old Astaire movie and adapted it for uneven surfaces, then we practiced it for weeks." Her eyes sparkled. "Anything you learn can be useful. I never believed it before I met Amanda, but I do now."

"I would've loved to see you and Amanda tapdancing around the gym."

"You'll have to learn it, too, if you're going to be on this job with us."

"Me? Tapdance?"

"You. Softshoe." She stood next to him. "Start like this." She tapped her toe gently, shifted her heel, did the same with the other foot, moved sideways and did it again. He tried to follow but finished on a toe instead of a heel. The third time he did better.

"Good. Now, when you sidestep, cross one leg in front of the other as if you were roller skating." She demonstrated.

This was more difficult. He managed to trip himself twice before he got it right at a slower speed than she was using.

"Now, when you've got that down, you start going up and down stairs. Use the toe and heel taps and brush steps to figure out how high the step is and whether it's stable before you put your weight on it." She set the stairs to an even spacing and went up them slowly, showing him the step. "You want to make sure to step in front on the way up and step behind on the way back down. It works better for balancing. You try it."

He'd never been much for ballroom dancing, but he'd always thought his feet were more organized than this. He got about two steps up before he tripped and fell off the steps.

"That's not so bad for a first time. Try it again." Michelle appraised his footwork. "It will help you to try to go faster -- your balance will improve."

This time he fell off the sixth step.

She gave him a hand to get to his feet and gestured at the rest of the Olympic-sized room. "Would you rather spar a bit with swords?"

"Sure. But what's with the wall?" Richie couldn't help noticing the huge section of untrimmed rock wall next to the fencing equipment and the weight area. Compared with the expensive weights equipment he saw around him, it looked primitive.

"Free-climbing. We do a lot of it." Michelle pulled on a pair of gloves from a box on the floor. "Like this." She walked up to the wall and swarmed up it like a spider on its thread, without visible effort.

Richie was definitely beginning to feel a sense of inferiority. When she came back down nonchalantly, he suggested they try some fencing. He pulled out his clamshell rapier, and watched Michelle take down a lightweight longsword from the wall rack.

They were fairly evenly matched; Richie was a couple of inches taller but Michelle was fast and light and swept in repeatedly under his guard. She didn't try any strength moves, such as the ones that Duncan had taught him, but worked to get him off-balance and trip him up. The first time he saw it coming and dodged. The second time he turned it against her and tripped her instead, but overbalanced himself and fell down on the mats as well. He caught her eye and they both broke out laughing.

"How about a swim?" Michelle asked as he helped her to her feet and put away his sword. "It's really not as cold as you think."

"All right. I guess I could use a shower by this time."

Michelle wrinkled her nose in agreement as they moved toward the door at the far end of the room.

"Amanda will be in her room for another few hours changing our plans to include you, then tomorrow morning you'll be in training double time, because we don't have long to prepare. This will be the only really free time we have for a while -- except when she's sleeping, which isn't that often."

"Do you like having Amanda as a teacher?" Richie asked. "I don't really know her that well; I know she's older than Ma- than a lot of Immortals, but I've only seen her in, well, social situations."

"Oh, we get along. Not as well as I could have gotten along with MacLeod, if he'd kept me on, but this is probably better. Amanda knows a lot of fighting tricks that I don't think men learn."

The door swung open into a steamy cavern lit by small lights recessed into the stone. Pools of water sent up inviting wisps of steam, and the mist smelled faintly medicinal.

"No, it's not a cold shower," Michelle said, laughing at his expression. "There are hot springs all over this part of the country; the Owner just diverted a couple of them so he wouldn't have to go outside in the winter to relax. This one's a mineral bath, this one is more sulfur -- good when you're really sore, but don't stay in it too long -- and this one is plain water, for rinsing off."

She turned to look at him, and suddenly her eyes seemed dark and huge. "If you want to wear a swimsuit, there's a box of them over there. We usually don't bother." Richie swallowed. "There are robes over in the changing rooms on the side; we do use those, because it can get chilly when you get out of the pools."

"Thanks." He went into the changing room, undressed and picked a long soft robe from a row of them on hooks. Normally, he might just strip his clothes off and jump into the nearest pool, but he felt a little awkward around Michelle. What kind of relationship did she and Amanda have? How would Amanda react if she came in and found them ... well, heating up the place a bit more? Amanda had always turned all his own buttons on just by looking at him a certain way, or touching him on the shoulder. Just because she was preoccupied and not acting like that at the moment didn't mean she wasn't capable of turning on the charm whenever she thought it would be useful -- or fun.

And Amanda had been training Michelle. In what?

When he went back into the cavern, Michelle was nowhere in sight. He'd decided to skip the suit; Tessa had always told him to follow the customs of the place he was living, even if they seemed a little different. He dropped the robe, tested the surface of the mineral pool with a cautious toe, and slid into the water. A natural rock outcropping formed a bench around the pool, and he sat down and leaned back, feeling the bubbling water soothe his muscles.

A pair of small hands started to knead his shoulders, and he jumped.

"Shhh. Don't move. You're really tight up here." Michelle's voice was right behind his ear. She was sitting on the floor behind him, her feet dipping into the water on either side of his shoulders. He held still, feeling her knuckles digging into the pressure points in his muscles, and the tense muscles releasing slowly. It felt as if the tension flowed away into the hot water.

Richie couldn't help wondering what, if anything, Michelle was wearing, or how she would react if he started to put into motion any of the fantasies that were dancing through his mind. He started to play with one of her feet, and received a karate chop across the top of the shoulder.

"It's no good your getting all tight again when I'm trying to loosen you up." She sounded amused, not angry, but he decided to wait and let her make the first move. He let her foot go, and leaned back into the water-smoothed stone, enjoying her touch.

"Don't I get to do anything? I mean, I'm not complaining -- this is fabulous -- but what if I want to return the favor?" He ventured a glance back and was rewarded with a comprehensive view of Michelle, wearing a slight frown as she dug into a muscle in his opposite shoulder. She wasn't wearing anything else. He definitely approved of the view.

"You'll get your turn. With the kind of workout Amanda will be putting us through, we'll all get the chance to play masseur and medic. You're in a lot better shape than I was when I started with her, but you'll be just as sore by the end of tomorrow as I was."

Richie reached back and took her hands in his. She didn't try to get away, but waited to see what he would do next. "Are you telling me that this is the only time we'll have the energy for anything other than work?" He drew her forward so that she was leaning into his back, her soft breasts against his head. "If you're not interested, that's all right too."

"Stupid." Her voice was soft. "Of course I'm interested. I'm just telling you this isn't going to be any honeymoon for you; Amanda will work us both very hard." She paused a moment. "And there's always the chance that she might want you, too. Had you thought of that?"

Just what he wanted -- a straightforward woman. Or two. "Oh, man, yes, I've thought about it. But she's always been so wrapped around Duncan that I don't think she'd even look at me."

"Trust me, she'd look. She always looks, but she won't step in if we have something good going between us." Michelle slid into the pool next to him, dropped underwater for a moment and surfaced. Her hair flowed back over her shoulders as she found a seat next to him on the rocky outcropping. "The thing is, I'm not sure if I want something serious right now, while I'm in the middle of training. I've got at least a couple of years to go before I'll be on my own, and I don't want to screw it up if it means I'll lose my head." She traced a random pattern on his chest with one soft finger. "Do you think we could just be a couple of friends who are --"

"Close friends. Very close friends." Richie picked up her hand and kissed the finger that was tickling him and turning his nerves on high. "I think we can do that."

He leaned forward to kiss her, and she returned the kiss as an echo of him, first gently then more strongly searching, then drawing back just a bit to explore the sensuous possibilities of these lips, this mouth, this tongue, the taste of this new person.

She pulled back for air just as they were about to slip off the outcropping. "Immortals or not, I don't think we want to make love in a cauldron."

"Where, then?"

"There's the wrestlers' mat in the game room, or the chaise over there next to the plain water pool."

"We can start with one, and proceed to the other," he said. He helped her out of the mineral spring and they walked together toward the chaise. As they passed the plain pool she tripped him and followed him into the water. It felt ice cold. He spluttered as he came to the surface.

"Yowie! What is this? You like cold baths or something?"

"Doesn't it feel good?"

"Are you kidding? You do this with all your lovers?" He was treading water in the middle of the pool, not sure what to make of this.

"Only the ones who are too hot to touch. You were getting overheated; I didn't want to get burned." She hoisted herself up to sit on the edge of the pool, water streaming down her hair to her breasts and down her belly and legs. Her eyes looked deep and clear, and straight into his soul. She blew him a kiss. He swam over and stood on the bottom of the pool as it sloped upward, positioning himself between her knees.

"Really? Then we'll just have to see how hot I am. C'mere."

He pulled her forward so she was balanced on the edge of the pool, and started to kiss her thighs, licking the water off gently, moving inward. She ran her hands through his hair; when he reached his target, the tender nub of nerves within the smoky hair, her hands tightened and she drew a deep breath, let it out, drew another one. He explored the delicate folds, the flavors and scents with his tongue, kissing her gently and moving slowly to wake her -- but found she was already as awake and ready as he was. She tried to draw him up to kiss her but slid off the edge into his arms instead. He nibbled on her nipples, already tight with anticipation and cold.

"Now who's too hot?" he murmured. She pushed him away and ducked underwater, and for the briefest moment he thought something was wrong, until he felt her lips on him and her tongue, licking and teasing, caressing and playing him harder. Immortals don't drown, he remembered; maybe there are some benefits of this immortality business after all. She came up for air, her elfin face as wild with desire as his own.

"You want me? Catch me." She swam to the other side of the pool, pulled herself out, and ran toward the chaise. Richie launched himself after her, and his longer stride let him reach the chaise just as she did. The chaise's soft cushions caught them as they fell onto it, adjusted to their weight and movement, and rocked them as they kissed and touched and caressed. He waited until both of them were almost over the edge, until he had kissed almost every inch of her body and done more than that on a few particular square inches, until she looked deep into his blue eyes with her own deep brown ones and told him, "Yes." Then he came in, slowly, gently, and she welcomed him, and they rocked each other until they could be gentle no longer.

Afterward they lay in each other's arms on the chaise, enjoying the afterglow and the warm steam of the room.

"Happy?" Richie asked. He knew he was. Somewhere during the past hour, the knots that had been creating macrame in his stomach had loosened. He knew this was only a temporary peace, but even a small oasis of caring and relaxation was better than what he had run away from.

"Ohhh, yes. You're good." She turned those eyes toward him, and he could have sworn there were stars there in the depths of them. She said quietly, "You're my first, you know. No, not first ever, but the first Immortal I've cared about. It means a lot."

"Thank you." He felt honored; also a little worried. She'd already said she just wanted to have fun, so how much did this mean to her? "Why me, if I may ask? I can't say I've given you the greatest impression of my skill and charm. I pile in here exhausted, eat two-thirds of a pizza, fall asleep for hours. Not much to go on."

"Amanda said a few things, and Duncan said a few as well. He wouldn't sleep with me; he has this thing about honor."

"Not any more he doesn't." A chill washed through Richie, and his stomach lurched.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." She put a hand on his face to make him look at her again. "It means a lot to me because I wanted you, and you wanted me back, and we are friends. Aren't we?" He nodded. "And because I liked what I saw of you. It took a lot of guts to come here after what happened to you, not knowing what you'd find. I admire that."

"I had to come. Nobody else could tell her." He kissed her hand, then her lips and her shoulder. "What is this cushion made of? It feels like it's alive or something."

Michelle giggled. "I think it's a really big piece of surgical silicone. Amanda said something like that when we first got here."

Richie gulped back half a dozen comments. He pulled her over into a brief hug. "How about another dip?"

"Or a real swim, this time?" Michelle pointed through yet another door. "There's an Olympic-size pool in there, saltwater version instead of chlorine. Cleaning it's one of my chores."

"Sounds great. I'll race you -- whoever wins the first quarter mile gets to choose the snack afterward."

They swam together and finished in a tie; showered together, dressed and raided the refrigerator together. Amanda came out of her room as Richie finished demonstrating a rapier maneuver with a pickle knife.

"Very nice, if your opponent's a kosher dill." she said. "I'm starved. Did you two leave me any food at all?"

Richie started to answer but Michelle shushed him. "Pot roast and scalloped potatoes, or wienerschnitzel. It's your turn to do the dishes, too."

"Pooh. Isn't there any brie left? Oh, well, I guess I'll survive." She filled her plate and came over to sit with them around the counter. "I'm glad to see you two are getting along so well. Enjoy yourself tonight, Richie, because you'll be too tired to do anything tomorrow."

"Now, Amanda, are you trying to tell me you'll work me harder than Mac ever did?" He actually managed to say the name without choking, and hoped she didn't notice the waver in his voice.

She turned her big brown eyes on him over the rim of her glass of Liebfraumilch. "Why, Richie, dear," she said in a faux-Southern drawl, "who do you think gives Duncan his best workouts?"

"I'm not touching that line."

She gave him a Southern Belle smile. "Good. Set your alarm for 5 a.m., and if you're late in the gym I'll come in personally and haul your ass out of bed." Her tone was casual. She looked him up and down, and he was certain she knew just what condition he was in and why. "How's your swordfighting these days?"

"Pretty good," he said cautiously, remembering his last fight in the dojo.

"Good. I'd like you to teach Michelle whatever you know. I'm going to have to modify our plans for this job, and I'll need a little extra time to sort things out."

"What's changing? Did they move it somewhere else?" Michelle was all attention. Amanda shook her head.

"No, it's still there. We have an additional guard dog to pass before we reach it, and this one can't be decoyed with a steak." She caught herself frowning and tried to smooth the wrinkles in her forehead with her fingers. It didn't quite work.

"An Immortal?" Michelle drew a quick breath.

Amanda nodded. "I think so. Damn it, I'm going to have to call Joe again and check on this, but I think we're up against Carlisle, and he's no fun at all."

"Carlisle? You know him from somewhere?" Richie asked. He refilled Amanda's glass and got himself a beer from the fridge.

Amanda nodded. "He's first-class scum. He's been a circus performer, high wire act, contortionist, juggler -- I think before his first death he may have been an entertainer at the court of Charlemagne. I found out about him the hard way; we worked together for a little while in England and France, many years ago. He's really warped. He'll follow a contract to the letter, but he won't be honest or honorable about how he does it."

"I'm not sure I understand that. Follows contracts but isn't honest?"

Amanda tried again. "Okay. He was hired once to prevent anyone from crossing the Scottish border into England at a certain castle. He did that very well. Nobody crossed. But every person who tried was put in the dungeon, and most of them starved to death, because he hadn't been given food for prisoners and he didn't think it was important. More than 200 people died in that dungeon. When the lord who'd hired him found out, he was horrified, but he couldn't get Carlisle to understand that he wanted to keep people in, not starve them. He canceled the contract and Carlisle killed him for it."

"Why would the Watchers want to hire him to guard this thing? Don't they know what he is?" Michelle frowned. "It doesn't make sense."

"Actually, it does, if they're Hunters," Richie told her. "James Horton, the Watcher who started the Hunters, was in league with Xavier St. Cloud for a while, letting Xavier take the heads of the Immortals he set up. The way Horton thought, it wouldn't matter to him how powerful Xavier got as long as there was a guillotine in the basement to deal with him eventually. Mac got to them both before it came to that, but it wasn't a good scene. A lot of people were killed."

"Oh, I'm thinking of ways to get around him." Amanda mused. "If it were a normal heist, with a lot of small valuables, I'd try to get him to think we'd cut him in on the take."

"Would he go for it?" Michelle asked.

"Probably not. Damn." Amanda took another sip of wine and toyed with the stem of the wineglass. "Carlisle is a strong, unpredictable fighter. I'll have to think of something that would throw him off guard. He also used to be sort of an herbalist, specializing in hallucinogenic herbs, but I can't see how that will help right now."

Richie interrupted her train of thought. "Tell me more about this thing we're going after. What does it look like? How does it work?"

"Well," Amanda considered, "it's no larger than a platter of food, but much heavier. There are a lot of miniaturized circuits or crystals in it that weigh it down. It's in a display case in the vault of a private residence called Skycastle, about a hundred miles from here." She went to the refrigerator in search of dessert. "As for how it works, well, nobody really knows except the scientists. It sees the future, but in a dangerous way."

"How do you mean dangerous?"

"What do you know of quantum theory or physics?" Richie looked back at her, puzzled. "Multiple-worlds theory? Chaos theory? Nothing?" She shrugged. "Same as me. I thought you could explain it to me if I gave you the basics. Here goes. I'll tell you what I was told, and I have to admit it does make sense." She took a bite of chocolate cake. "The future is full of possibilities, and each of these can vary depending on something that happens now, or between now and whenever the future event occurs. You with me so far?" Richie nodded. Michelle started clearing the table as if she'd heard it all before.

"Okay. Now, it's possible with statistics to predict the chances of an event happening if you know the factors that are involved and how they acted in the past to produce similar events. Earthquakes and volcanoes, for instance, or political or economic situations. But it's still a prediction, and there are always a lot of unpredictable things that could happen."

"Okay. I'm with you. Now what? What does this thing have that the statisticians don't have?" Richie nodded again. Some of this sounded like the books Tessa had been reading the winter before she died, when she was looking for new themes for her artwork.

"Two things: a reduced number of variables, and certainty." Amanda pushed her plate away, and her face suddenly looked very old and tired. "It doesn't show what happens to crowds or countries, but only events related to the life of the person who is operating it, or holding it, or of someone the operator is thinking of -- all these have been reported -- and whatever it shows will happen. Does happen. It crystalizes the time flows or something, I'm not sure what."

Richie whistled. "And we're stealing this thing for your old friend whom you're not sure you trust -- from people you think are Watchers -- and we can't even look at it, just in case we see the future and get stuck with it."

"You got it. There's always a possibility that the chopper will go kaput, or that Carlisle will win, or --" she took a deep breath, "that Duncan will never be himself again, ever, and we'll never be safe from him." Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice dropped, but her face was stony. "I don't want to know that for certain. I just don't want to know. I don't want to know when I'm going to die forever, either."

She put one hand over her face and was very still. Richie reached across the table and took her other hand, and she gripped his for a moment, then released it and straightened in her chair almost as if nothing had happened.

"How did you find out about Carlisle?" Michelle asked. "Did you go out with the truck?"

"I had a message from my old friend. He said a new watchman had been hired -- a castellan, actually, in charge of security at Skycastle -- and gave me the name and enough background that I knew who we were up against." She sighed. "Well, we'll just have to do our best."

"We have a satellite dish here for receiving messages," Michelle told Richie. "Problem is, we can't send out too easily. Something's broken."

"Or disabled. My friend is a very private type; he may have unhooked it on purpose, damn him." Amanda looked at the sober faces around her. "Cheer up, gang, we'll do just fine. Besides, if they're expecting anyone at all to rob the place, it's only me. You two will come as a big surprise."

"If it were a bike I could fix it," Richie offered. "I'm not good at electronics."

Amanda shrugged. "It's all right. I have other ways to get hold of him if I need to. We've got time for one good movie tonight if we want to get enough rest. Which one do you want, Richie?"

"Rocky Horror Picture Show?" he suggested tentatively.

"Super! I'll make toast," Michelle said.

The next morning, Amanda did indeed haul them out at 5 a.m.; Richie and Michelle had tacitly decided not to sleep in the same room as a courtesy to Amanda, and he was just as glad to be alone when the alarm rang. He managed a fast shower but didn't even try to shave; he didn't want to be the first Immortal suicide. "Why can't immortality take care of growing beards?" he muttered.

Amanda had them start out with calisthenics that she led, then the three of them worked on hand-to-hand combat, trading ideas for unorthodox moves and dirty fighting. Richie didn't really mind being the attacker for this, but he winced at some of Amanda's counters. If this was how she'd lived for 1100 years, no wonder she'd survived. She might look delicate, but she had muscle behind those moves. The only thing that might save the man who came up against her would be full body armor -- and even that might not work.

For a breather from the sweaty work, they dived into the pool and swam laps for an hour. After lunch, Richie watched a clip from a Fred Astaire movie and tried to figure out what Fred's flying feet were really doing. Michelle and Amanda made a fast trip in the van to a convenient telephone pole.

"Good news and bad news," Amanda said as she walked into the gym. Richie was practicing his sword kata, having concluded that he'd have to learn dancing the hard way instead of just absorbing it from the film. He tipped the sword upward, slashed it down, spun and stepped back.

"Very pretty. I'd like to learn that." Michelle was right behind her. He smiled at her in acknowledgment.

"So what's the good news?" He sheathed his sword and laid it aside.

"Duncan is definitely on his way to France; the radioman on the boat is a Watcher trainee. Joe heard that he's causing all sorts of problems."

"He does that anyway."

"Not like this. Our Mac is turning into a thug." Her lips tightened. "How I wish I could have gotten a shot at that Coltec before he went up against Duncan."

"I don't think any of us would be able to deal with a Wicked Amanda," Richie said. "You said that's the good news. What's the bad news?"

"I didn't realize Carlisle was trained by Rebecca, my own teacher. That means almost all my best moves are useless; he'll already know them. We all fight like our teachers." She frowned. "But he's never been up against Duncan or Connor MacLeod, not that Joe knew."

"Whoa. You mean I'm the only one who can fight him?"

"Not if you can teach us some of their moves in the next week. We hit the place next weekend." Amanda made an effort to smile. "Trade-off: you teach us Duncan's finer sword techniques and we teach you tap dancing and advanced cat burglary. Deal?"

What choice did he have? "Deal."

Days and nights blended together, full of activity and aches. It was hard to remember what day it was; all he seemed to do was train, eat and sleep.

Amanda made good her threat to work him harder than Duncan ever did. He spent hours with Michelle to master the peculiar dance technique she and Amanda had worked out that enabled them to climb uneven stairs quickly and quietly. The first two days it turned his legs to rubber far more easily than he'd expected, with what seemed like hundreds of tiny unappreciated muscles complaining of overuse, but after that it got better. By the end of the week he was almost as fast as Michelle, though not as fast as Amanda. He still couldn't do it blindfolded, though, unless he wanted to acquire interesting new bruises on his backside.

In return, he worked both of them as hard, making them practice the particular moves he'd learned from Duncan and from Connor on his infrequent visits. "Some of these are skill moves, some are strength moves. Don't use the strength moves until he's tired or off-balance. He won't expect them from you." He showed them some of Duncan's reversed-katana defenses and the swooping overhead stroke he used from a kneeling position to disable a standing enemy.

"I haven't seen anyone else use these. They must be something he picked up in the East." Amanda panted as she dropped to a bench along the side of the gym and reached for a glass of water. "I learned longsword from Rebecca, and then later I learned Italian smallsword techniques from Fitzcairn. Duncan never would teach me, though. He said he didn't want to have to compete with me."

"I can understand that." Richie disarmed Michelle for the fifth time, then moved slowly through the maneuver so she could find for herself the point at which she lost balance. One more time and she countered well, still in balance, and pressed him back. A second, and she sped up and nearly disarmed him. "That's good. Let's take a break."

"You always want to take a break when I'm winning," Michelle said. It was not quite a joke.

"No, just when you're learning something from it. Try that move again without me there, and see if you can keep the same speed without an opponent to move against." He dropped onto the bench next to Amanda. "What next, boss? Rock climbing? Marathon? Swimming? High-wire work?"

"None of the above. Meet you in the strategy room in 20 minutes -- and take a shower."

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted the swinging door she passed through. "Mickey, care for a fast shower together?"

"I thought you'd never ask." She hung up her sword and kissed him in passing. "But it better just be a shower; I want to find out what we're going to be doing, and if we're late she'll get mad and not tell us."

They squeezed through the door on time, Richie with a towel still draped around his neck. "Nice scarf. I like the casual look," Amanda commented, grinning. He blushed a little; Amanda could probably tell by looking that he wasn't wearing anything under the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd grabbed, but she probably didn't care either. He knew Michelle didn't care.

The conference table in the center of the room wasn't empty any more; it supported a scale model of something that looked quite a bit like a crusader's castle, set on the edge of a steep rocky cliff. The battlements surrounded a helicopter pad, a small shed, and what looked like supplies under tarps.

Where eagles dare, Richie thought. All it needed was a cable car and some Nazis.

"As you can see, the only way in is by chopper." Amanda spoke briskly. "We can fly in by night, no lights, and put the rotors on silent running, and get in under the radar. I've practice that, I know I can do it. We can leave the same way, no problem. Nobody will stop us from coming there; they'll only interfere while we're trying to reach the time viewer."

"Okay." Richie could see she was right. "And where will it be?"

"This is where it gets a little tricky. There aren't any doors on the roof that we can use. Even the elevator shafts are locked down, and I for one don't want to deal with the noise opening up one of those would take. So we go in over the side, down the wall, and through this window here." Her finger traced a path through the battlements, down the side of the castle right above the cliff, and in through a narrow window by the corner. "I've measured the distance -- we've been doing this exact climb for days now. Just forget about the drop and you'll be fine. And if you do fall, well, when you're recovered just climb back up and we'll be waiting for you."

"Very funny. This looks doable. What about after we go through the window? What then? Dobermans? Geese? Nazis?"

"You watch too many movies, Richie. Geese would be in the courtyard of a respectable medieval castle, not in the storage rooms. There are ways of dealing with them, but all of them involve too many feathers, and way too much noise." She lifted the top of the model and set it aside. "On the other hand, this isn't a respectable medieval castle. The window leads into a storage room; we can leave our climbing gear there without fear of fowl, I'm told. According to our information the floors aren't pressure-sensitive; it's a little hard to do with flagstones. There will be some light beams to dodge around, no problem. The time viewer will be located here." She pointed to a small circular object atop a huge heap of rubble in the center of the floor of the model's largest room. "That's where we tap-dance our way into history; it's heavy enough it will take two of us to carry it. Our major problem will be with Carlisle."

She put the lid back on the castle and the three of them walked slowly back toward the kitchen, deep in thought. Richie brought out a beer for himself and white wine for Michelle and Amanda, and they settled onto the bar stools around the counter.

Michelle was frowning. "I know the rules of the Game say you can't go two against one, but what if we disabled him a little first? A tranquilizer dart, maybe? Or manage to throw a net over him and tie him up in it? We're not out to kill him, we're just trying to steal what he's guarding. It's not the same thing."

Amanda pursed her lips and considered. "It's a thought. We're not playing the Game, and if he challenges one of us we can decline, but we'll still have to get out of it somehow. He's far too dangerous to leave awake and aware of what we're doing. In his own twisted way, the man is as much of a pain in the ass as Duncan. He will come after us, unless we can find a way to keep him out of it."

"How 'honorable' is he?" Michelle asked. "Would he be inclined to kill a lover, for instance?" Her eyes met Amanda's for a long look that excluded Richie completely.

"It wouldn't do you a bit of good," Amanda said with regret. "Carlisle's liked boys far better than girls for centuries. But I've never heard of him harming any of them. Hmmmm...." Her eyes turned toward Richie with a speculative expression he didn't like a bit.

He threw his hands up and pushed himself away from the counter, shaking his head. "Unh-uh. No. No way. No way, José. You've got to be kidding. I am not going to flirt with a gay Immortal, not even for your precious time viewer. You'll have to think of something else."

"I did. Wouldn't you rather flirt with him with us nearby to keep you out of trouble than go off with him and be seduced while we finish the job?" Amanda's voice was light, but her eyes were pleading. She slid off her barstool and put her arms around him. "C'mon, Richie. This is so important. Couldn't you just pretend he was one of us? Pretend he's me."

Richie was still shaking his head -- mostly to discourage her from nibbling on his ear -- but this suggestion caught him off-guard and he started to laugh. "If he likes 'boys,' wouldn't I be a bit too old for him?"

"At the upper end of his range, but still inside it. Please, Richie? If you do this, I promise I'll never ask you for another favor." Her touch was driving him nuts. How did Mac ever get anything done around this woman, let alone put up with her for 300 years?

He tried to push her away. "C'mon, he's going to know it's a fake. I'm not that good an actor." He could see he wasn't going to be able to get out of this. "That's not enough."

"All right." Her arms dropped and she stepped back, all businesswoman. "When we get back, you can have anything you want from me. You can ask me for anything, now or later, and I'll do it. Is that good enough?"

"I guess it will have to do. But you'd better expect me to think up something pretty good." It sounded like a threat, but it was spoken equal to equal and that was how Amanda took it.

"Good. While you're distracting him, we'll get the disk down. Once we have it, we'll come and get you and we'll go back up the wall and fly off."

"How are we going to carry this thing if it's too heavy for one person?" Michelle asked.

"Good question. We have a couple of alternatives. If we can steal the elevator key from Carlisle, we use the elevator to get back to the roof. Otherwise, I've rigged up a sling we can use. But remember -- if it falls out of that sling on its way up the wall, let it go. We're supposed to be destroying it, not just stealing it."

"While you're at it, mind telling me how I flirt with a man?" Richie asked sarcastically, as he sat back on the barstool. "Do I flutter my eyelashes, or play coy or what?" He batted his eyelashes at Michelle, who hooted with laughter.

"Do you really want to know?" Amanda inquired. She slid off her barstool and moved toward him languidly, casually, her eyes riveted to his. "First you make eye contact. You don't have to say anything, just look at him, then look away, then back again." Her eyes moved from his eyes to his hands, and back to his eyes again. "Next you invade his personal space." She stopped, close enough that he couldn't get off his own seat without running into her. "And then you make yourself available for a little physical contact. Like this."

She reached past him toward the salt shaker, so that her sleeve brushed his hand and her hair touched his shoulder. He could smell her perfume, a faint spicy scent he could never identify in a store, and it touched something deep within him. "And then you withdraw a little, so you won't seem to be an easy target." She backed up, salt shaker in hand, half-turned away, and looked back over his shoulder. "If this goes well, you can take it a little further." Her voice became higher and artificial. "Oh, dear, I seem to have spilled salt all over you. I'm so terribly sorry." She pretended to clean the salt from his clothes with her fingers, but he could tell she was feeling him through the clothes, noting his muscles tensing and the way his breathing seemed to speed up just a little.

Abruptly, Amanda stepped back, set the saltshaker back on the counter and went back to where she'd been sitting. "Like that. You don't have to get mushy, you don't have to go any further than that. You don't even have to kiss him. Why is it, do you think, that the idea of men kissing each other is such a taboo these days? Richard the Lionheart kissed men and women, and so did Henry V and Phillip of Spain and all sorts of men they'd consider macho today." She shrugged. "Cultures change, but I just don't see the sense of some of it."

Michelle watched this demonstration of technique with an expression that suggested she was taking copious mental notes. "It's a slightly different kind of flirting, but I like it. It should work." She caught the rueful look on his face. "Richie, you probably won't even have to do it. Think of it as our secret weapon that we won't use unless it's life-or-death."

"Don't you think he'll be just a little suspicious of an Immortal showing up to flirt with him?"

"Carlisle? He'll take it as a compliment." Amanda shrugged. "He's been stuck on that pretty face of his for centuries."

Richie attempted to change the subject. "Tell me, if your friend who owns this place is so powerful and wealthy -- I mean, look around, it's not the bargain basement special -- why doesn't he just buy the disk from whoever has it? Are they enemies or something?"

For the first time that evening, Amanda looked uncertain. "I'm not sure. Knowing him, he's probably tried to get it in every other way already -- he works through holding companies a lot, and he has a fair amount of power in his own right, though you'd never know to look at him. As for the Watchers, well, all I know is that my friend has tried everything he knows to get the time viewer and failed. The owner of Skycastle is a Watcher who was once was nobility in a small European country, though not here. Or at least his family used to be nobility, a few wars ago. He's a greedy little playboy, who's messing with things he doesn't understand."

"Well, if I had something that would accurately predict the future, I'd be pretty cautious about it too." Richie sobered a moment. "At least, your friend hired the best in the world to get it back for him."

"Yes, he did." The sparkle returned to Amanda's eyes. "Centuries of experience."

Richie kept his thoughts to himself, but wondered how it was that this friend of Amanda's knew how to contact the world's finest cat burglar when she had no permanent address, no permanent last name, and no published phone number. Old friend of hers or not, he hoped the guy wasn't some kind of undercover cop who'd get them all put away for a longer life sentence than anyone would reasonably expect.

In less time than it seemed, it was dusk on Saturday, and they were suited up and in the Blackhawk, Amanda guiding it on a low-to-the- ground pattern along a river then only briefly up through a mountain pass and back down again. Richie was grateful that immortality had apparently taken care of the carsickness he'd had as a child, but he still wasn't pleased with the way she was flying.

Michelle sat nonchalantly beside him, working and reworking the knots on their climbing gear to make sure they were solid. Her hands were nearly as strong as Richie's, though smaller. He'd discovered that when they were practicing breaking an attacker's hold, and he'd had to use almost as much strength as with Mac to stop her.

He didn't want to think of Duncan tonight; it still hurt too much. It would make him afraid to fight, and none of them could afford that.

After almost an hour of weaving in and out of canyons, the chopper swooped toward a rough-edged mountain plateau, barely visible, and rose silently above it to touch down on the roof of Skycastle, near one side. They climbed out as quietly as possible. Amanda and Michelle tied the end of the climbing rope to one of the Cobra's runners, and threw the other over the edge of the wall. It fell into silence. Amanda went first, Richie second and Michelle third as they made their way cautiously down the wall, pulled themselves into the narrow window, and unhooked themselves. Carrying only the harness for the time viewer and Amanda's backpack of burglar's tools, they ran silently down the narrow stone passages toward the huge ballroom.

Skycastle looked just as their information had said; Richie couldn't help wishing for Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood as backup, but Burton was dead and Eastwood was probably making another movie somewhere in California. Besides, what could a backup do, even a backup of movie immortals, when real Immortals were involved?

They all made it over the beams at the end of the hall. The lock on the door to the ballroom was so simple Michelle could have picked it. They slid under the just-above-knee-level beam there and stood up in the darkened room. Richie's head filled with the buzz of another Immortal's presence.

The lights came on.

"Surprise!" The light voice was filled with sarcasm. "Wouldn't you care for some dinner? You're a little late for the appetizers, but the main course is still available."

Carlisle moved from the side of the room, where he'd apparently just flicked the light switch, to stand in front of them. He had a polished elegance that belied his apparent age of 25 or so, and he moved with the poise of a dancer. His gracefulness made Amanda's eyes narrow under her goggles; this could be a formidable opponent. But in the midst of that thought an incongruity struck her. Why would a top-level security officer wear ordinary workmen's clothes?

"My employers told me I might expect a visit from one of you, and there are three. How delightful. Shall we go through introductions first or later? And really, would you like something to eat at the buffet table?" He waved a hand toward a table filled with dishes. "I _am_ sorry for eating all the appetizers, but you are a bit later than I anticipated. And which of you is the lovely Amanda?"

He looked from one of them to another without a qualm. Obviously he thought he could cope with all of them without trouble. Richie felt uncomfortable at the amount Carlisle knew; the Watchers were doing a much more thorough job than he expected. The coldbloodedness he saw in Carlisle made him sure they were dealing with some subgroup within the Watchers, not the usual ones who avoided contact with Immortals.

Carlisle's eyes moved across the three of them and back, repeatedly. All of them were much the same height, although their figures differed. At Amanda's insistence, they had worn close- fitting black outfits with special shoes that gripped the stone wall they'd climbed, full hoods like skindivers' hoods to cut wind resistance, and infrared goggles. Their swords were slung in special scabbards along their backs, where they would be least in the way.

Amanda pushed back her goggles and unsnapped the anonymous face guard she wore. "I am Amanda. Don't you recognize me, or has it been too long?" From her tone, Richie knew she was going to try to charm Carlisle.

"Never too long, my dear." He came forward and bowed as if to kiss her hand. "Do have a veal chop, Amanda. You've come such a long way, you should at least have dinner. It's the only thing you'll leave here with. And the others should eat too. You will introduce me?"

Reluctantly, Amanda indicated they should take off their goggles and masks. Michelle pulled off her hood and shook out her hair; after a moment Richie took off his hood and stowed it in a pouch on his belt.

Carlisle's eyes went to Michelle first. "Someone I have not met before... oh, you are charming." He went over to her and kissed her hand, to her confusion. "And you look hungry. Please, fill a plate. Do feel free to eat whatever you like. It isn't poisoned. I didn't even add any of my own recreational condiments."

Amanda cut in, "Carlisle, this isn't like you. No challenges? No drugs? No jumping in with both feet and a sword? What's going on here?"

The thin blond man shrugged. "My contract with the Watchers is to prevent you from leaving with the Temporal Observation Tool. Trust me, you will not leave -- with it." He almost smirked. "Isn't this a much more pleasant way of fulfilling my contract than taking your head? I do enjoy a good fight, but if it comes to that you should at least have a delicious final meal." His eyes turned to Richie, and the smirk changed to the expression of a cat with a new toy. "What have we here? A new Immortal I've not even heard of? And in such fine shape, too. I look forward to getting to know you better. Much better."

Richie almost growled, but the caution on Amanda's face reminded him to be polite. Make eye contact, she'd said. To hell with that. He pulled himself up straighter and looked directly at Carlisle, challenge in his eyes. Maybe if he could draw the man away from the disk, Amanda and Michelle could get to it and get away. He wouldn't put it past Amanda to interfere in the fight; this time he might welcome it.

Carlisle's pale gray eyes followed his every movement. He walked toward Richie, moving in close within blade reach, and touched his elbow. "Wouldn't you like some food? Or something warm to drink? It must have been cold, climbing down the side of the castle."

"How did you know we'd come that way?" Richie's tone was gruff; he wouldn't give any ground with pleasantries, but he was curious.

Carlisle waved a hand toward the top of the pile of rubble. "I watched you, earlier today. Oh, do eat something. You'll all make me feel like a very poor host," he complained.

At a glance from Amanda, Michelle picked up a place and started to fill it with food. Richie moved toward the table but found he had to go around Carlisle, who kept moving slightly in front of him. This made Richie mad; he held back from pushing the man, but he put out an arm to block Carlisle from moving in front of him again.

"Oh, you're magnificent when you're angry," Carlisle said softly in his ear. "You're such a tease."

A tease? He wasn't even trying to flirt, he was the one being flirted with. He tried to send a mental SOS to Amanda, but it didn't seem to be working. Amanda was nibbling suggestively on a pickle and not looking at him. Michelle, however, looked over her shoulder at Richie when Carlisle was looking away, and winked. She had something in her other hand, something that looked like the climbing cord they'd left in the other room. As Richie moved past Carlisle toward the table, she circled around it to put herself on Richie's side while not going behind Carlisle. The tablecloth hid whatever she held in that lowered hand.

Carlisle didn't really notice Michelle; all his attention was on Richie. "You can't tell me you're not a little attracted to me. I can see how you feel." He shrugged. "If I were wearing my usual clothes, you'd have no doubt of my feelings at this moment. But these are more suitable to this time and place."

Richie looked closely at Carlisle's dark loose shirt and dark slacks. They looked like workmen's clothes, but the material was heavier and moved a little more slowly. He let his hand brush Carlisle's sleeve in an unconscious imitation of Amanda's motion. Damn it, his guess was right. Carlisle's clothes were woven of Kevlar fibers, the same as the ones in a bulletproof vest. A sword wouldn't tear them, or cut through them, but would tangle in the loose fabric and make it easy for him to disarm his attacker.

"Who's your tailor? That's quite a comfortable-looking outfit," Richie said. He could feel Michelle just behind him; she touched his arm briefly and he moved past her toward the table as she threw something at Carlisle.

He was quick; he almost dodged her net and would have succeeded if Amanda had not thrown her bolo at the same time. The thongs wrapped the spiderweb net around his head as they knotted around his throat, and the leather-wrapped weights on the ends knocked him out. He fell sideways into a plate of Bavarian cream.

"Where's the tape? Good." Within seconds Michelle wrapped Carlisle's ankles with duct tape; she and Amanda worked rapidly as they moved up and down his body, taping his arms to his sides, turning him into a silver-gray mummy and rolling him under the table.

"Now we get the job done," Amanda said. Michelle had already started her careful dance step up the heap of cracked and broken rocks. It shifted under her weight, and she hesitated but kept moving upward. "Richie, you wait here. I'm going up after her." Amanda soft-shoed up the rocks by a slightly different route, balancing as if walking on a tightrope, but even she slid a bit.

Carlisle seemed to be recovering. Curses in more languages than Richie could count were emerging from beneath the tablecloth. He sent a wary glance in that direction to make sure nothing more than bad language was happening, and turned back to Amanda and Michelle. If that pile of rocks should shift and they were buried under it, he might have to enlist Carlisle to dig them out again, and he didn't want to think about the kind of debt he'd be paying off after that.

The women reached the top and stooped down around something that looked very much like a Victorian butler's tray made of obsidian. "Don't look at it after you touch it," Amanda warned. She brought out a dark cloth to drape over it and tie around it. That done, the two of them started back down the uncertain footing. Each time one of them skidded the other one held still and Richie's heart pounded. He didn't really notice the tearing sounds behind him until it was almost too late. The last ripping noise was louder, and as he realized what he was hearing he swirled and pulled out his rapier.

With enormous strength Carlisle stood up under the table, overturning it behind himself and throwing all the food to the floor. He had a small blade in one hand, a longsword in the other, and he was furious. "NOOOOOOOOOOooooo--" he yelled, his eyes riveted to Amanda and Michelle. "You'll die here, Amanda! You and the children!"

He rushed toward Amanda and Michelle, neither of whom could draw a weapon because they needed both hands for the time viewer. Richie stepped in between, sword at the ready, and Carlisle parried his thrusts almost automatically, as if Richie wasn't really there. No matter what Richie tried, he felt like a fly on the wall being swatted. Carlisle shoved Richie aside, out of his path, and moved within easy sword range of the women. There was no way Richie could get between them now.

Richie had never used Mac's swirling maneuver in a fight of his own, only in practice. Now he leaped toward Carlisle, touched down, turning as he did with the sword outflung to catch Carlisle high on the neck, the only place not covered by blade-proof Kevlar. Carlisle stumbled into the rocks, which shifted as he fell, and Amanda and Michelle skidded and fell down the rockpile together toward Richie. He put out a hand to catch them, and as he did he touched the time viewer along with them. The cloth fell away and the obsidian face began to glow.

Carlisle's Quickening grew around them, but hovered in the air as if uncertain of where to go. Richie hardly notice it; his eyes were fixed in the depths of the obsidian face, seeing shapes and colors shivering into view and out again. Out of the swirl a picture leaped into focus.

It only shows you your own future, or that of someone you think of, Amanda had said. What could it do with the three of them but show them the one thing they had in common with each other -- Duncan MacLeod. The scenes came rapidly, disjointed, connected only by his presence. A brawl aboard ship. A woman alone, seduced and betrayed. Adam Pierson, attacked in a church by someone he'd thought a friend. A sandy-haired Immortal with a kind face slain without a thought. Another church, and a dark-haired man weeping before the altar. An underground spring, and a battle between two Duncans, one of them the fiend who'd tried to kill him and the other the good friend who'd saved his life so many times. Then there was only one, who walked with Adam Pierson back to the barge. And a dark-haired woman who embraced him and whispered to him in Gaelic.

The Quickening struck then, as if outraged that they could ignore its presence. Lightning wrapped around all three of them, looping among them like a snake, snapping and crackling into their eyes, their mouths, flicking sparks from their fingertips. It wrapped around them like a barbed-wire fence made of energy, and it poured into the time viewer they held, shattering the obsidian face.

They all fell away from it then, but they were still connected by the energy loops, the crackling presence that had been Carlisle. If he didn't know better, Richie could have sworn he heard laughter in that crackle. He reached out to touch Michelle on the one side and Amanda on the other, and they held each other as the energy spiraled and shattered everything around them. It went on and on, tearing at them, shredding their clothes, and all they could do was hold each other and wait for the exquisite tension, the feeling between pleasure and pain to end.

Michelle was weeping on his shoulder; Richie kissed her to take away the pain. He felt her hands touching him, connecting him to sanity, connecting him to his body as his mind threatened to leave forever under the assault of Carlisle's energy. Carlisle had wanted him and, in his own way, he was getting him. Michelle pulled back and he sought her, touching her breasts and the length of her back and her strong shoulders -- but when he opened his eyes he was kissing Amanda. It didn't seem to matter. The energy storm rolled around them like a thunderhead, strengthened by the power of the time viewer, and the only way to stay alive, to stay in the body, was to use the body, to move and touch and kiss and lick and caress and fill each other in every way possible until the storm was over.

Somehow he was wrapping himself around one woman, while another one caressed them both; or he held both of them as they kissed each other and himself. At times he could almost feel a fourth pair of hands touching him like fire, exploring his body, but he didn't mind because Amanda and Michelle were there, he was surrounded by women who loved him, who healed him with their caring. Nothing Carlisle could do to him would hurt him -- nothing anyone could do would hurt him. Then the energy took over, and there were no bodies, no individuals, only pure sensation pulsing and filling them, stretching their capacity to feel beyond the limits any of them had ever experienced, and it went on and on.

Silence. Stillness. The song of a bird outside the window. Richie felt like he was coming back from the dead again. He felt cool cloth beneath himself, a cushioned surface. The air felt warm on his naked skin. He opened his eyes and didn't know where he was. He was lying on an enormous bed with Amanda and Michelle, curled together with them, all of them wrapped around one another like a Chinese puzzle. Amanda began to stir beside him, and Michelle's eyelashes fluttered.

"Where am -- oh, hello," Amanda said to Richie, and reached up to kiss him. Her face looked younger, almost innocent, as if a thousand years of grief had been erased. Beside him Michelle reached over to touch them both, her eyes shining with stars, and they kissed her tenderly, one after the other.

"Well, it's a bedroom. I think it's in the castle. We didn't teleport somewhere else, did we?" He grinned. "I don't want to rule out anything."

"It's not always like that, is it? Quickenings, I mean?" Michelle asked. Amanda and Richie shook their heads in unison. "Too bad. Something like that could cause world peace."

"Mmmmm, yes." Amanda stretched and pushed the covers back. "I hope they've got some clothes in these armoires, or we're going to have a slightly chilly time going home. We don't usually lose all our clothes either, you know."

It took a while for all of them to get up; they kept getting tangled in with each other casually, as if all of them were part of the same not-quite-coordinated body. Richie felt especially clumsy, in spite of the incredible peace he felt. He stumbled against the corner of the bed and stubbed his toe.

"Ouch, that hurt." It was Michelle, holding her foot in one hand. She'd been nowhere near the bed.

Amanda poked her head back around the corner from what they'd discovered was a modern bathroom. "What happened? My foot hurts." She looked at their faces and her own eyes grew wide from astonishment. "Are we the Corsican Triplets now?"

"It looks like it," Richie said. "Let's test this. Can you tell what I'm thinking, either of you?"

"There's no pastrami left, but I can see if we have some in the freezer," Michelle said. She caught herself, then added, "It's not hard to know when you're hungry, Richie."

"But I wasn't thinking of pastrami, I was thinking of peaches." He turned to Amanda, who was sitting in the bathroom doorway with a bemused expression on her face. "You're figuring it out. No, you've got it figured out."

Amanda nodded. "We're all empaths now. We can pick up each other's feelings and emotions. Not thoughts, just feelings. And I have an idea that this isn't going to go away, no matter where we are."

Empaths. It felt so strange and yet so right to be able to reach out that slightest of distances and know what someone else felt without even having to ask. For the first time in his life, Richie couldn't find that cold empty space inside where he'd hidden his emotions to keep others from lacerating them. What he felt, they knew; what they felt, he knew. It was as simple and as liberating as that.

They found shirts and jeans and an assortment of shoes in the armoire there and in the other bedrooms, and Amanda told them not to take anything else. "Normally, I'd pick up a few mementos, but if the Watchers could hire Carlisle to guard the place, I'd hate to meet whoever they'd hire to get things back." She shuddered, and they all felt her tremors. "I don't want to deal with Watchers any more than I have to. Except for Joe, of course."

Michelle's face was puzzled. "I wonder why we didn't have more of them here to deal with. I was sort of expecting a crowd."

"So was I," Richie told her. "There's no way of knowing. Maybe this business with Mac has kept everyone busy."

As they made their way down the hall to the ballroom, the place looked like it had been through a fairly nasty tornado. The buffet table was broken in four places. Near it lay what they assumed must be Carlisle's body, tiny fragments burnt to ash within shreds of Kevlar. They couldn't find the head anywhere.

"I've never seen anything like this," Amanda whispered. "There's nothing left of him." She stooped as if to touch him, but turned away. Richie felt her awe, and her fear, and tried to comfort her without words. She looked up at him. "I'm all right. It's just something of a shock. I've heard of this happening to immortals who were two thousand, three thousand years old, especially if the immortal wasn't exactly a Boy Scout. But I've never heard of it happening to someone who's younger than I am."

The pile of rubble had been reduced to gravel, and what was left of the time viewer sat atop it. The face was cracked in a dozen places, and the fittings around it had melted and warped with the heat of the Quickening until they were brittle; a touch made them crumble to the floor. They looked at each other, tendrils of fear and concern starting to move within them. "I'll do it," Richie said finally. "I haven't got as much past for the thing to use to find the future. But both of you pull me off it if I start to freak, okay?"

"Don't worry," Michelle said. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. Amanda nodded, her face grim, and rubbed his shoulder.

He knelt and touched the tips of his fingers to the obsidian surface. The glow arose as it did before, but it fractured into different pictures on every fragment of the crystal. Not one picture but a hundred moved before his eyes, some of them contradicting each other. He broke the contact and smiled.

"It can only show possibilities now, not certainties. Is that broken enough?" he asked Amanda.

"Let me try something," she said. She reached around to the back of the disk, and moved something he couldn't see. The obsidian shivered, rippled and disintegrated before their eyes into a pile of dust. Not just dust, though. She sifted through the dust and found three shards of obsidian, small and irregular, and cradled them in her hands.

"My own teacher, Rebecca, gave each of her students part of a crystal ball when they were ready for it. I think each of us should keep one of these, to remember this night."

"As if we'd forget." Richie smiled. He took one of the shards and weighed it in his hand. It looked like a piece of black glass, nothing more, but it weighed more than he expected. He put it in the breast pocket of the flannel shirt he'd borrowed, and watched as Michelle and Amanda put theirs away. "Shall we go back now?"

"Ugh. I'm not looking forward to climbing the wall in these." Michelle looked at her feet, clad in espadrilles.

Amanda gave them a breathtaking smile. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out the elevator key. "It was hanging in the armoire. Let's get our climbing gear and go home to the Rock."

The trip back to their haven was uneventful. Amanda's ease in the air must have come through the connection to Richie, for his stomach didn't lurch once. Michelle watched the scenery with delight and asked Amanda if she knew anything about photography.

"A little. I spent some time with this one photographer, Eddie Weston, but I grew so tired of eating green peppers for breakfast. I think I can show you the basics. There's a darkroom down in one of the passageways; we'll see what it's got."

"I've been wondering," Richie said. "Where do you get the electricity for that place? It's not like we have power lines anywhere within three miles."

"There's a geothermal converter in the basement -- we have enough electrical power to light Disneyland if we wanted to." Amanda shivered. "It's probably a good thing the Quickening and the time disk were at Skycastle instead of here. I'd hate to think what it would have done."

"They would've felt us in the San Andreas Fault," Michelle said.

Amanda grinned. "And Joe would've written a really smokin' blues number about it. I can just hear it now. The Skycastle Quickening Blues. I bet that one will make it on the charts."

"Or at least into the Watcher chronicles." Richie leaned back, relaxing. For the first time in days he wasn't worried about running across Duncan, or about what his reaction would be when that day came. He'd been so afraid in the dojo, so alone.

He wasn't alone any longer.


End file.
